


One breeds Love (The other Hate)

by SansThePacifist



Series: Watching the World Burn [4]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Additional Warnings May Apply, Blood and Violence, Brief Mention of Suicide, Brief freedom, Capture, Child Abuse, Child Soldiers, Confinement, Eating Zetsu parts, Eye Gouging, Eye Trauma, Flower Language, Force-Feeding, Gen, Genjutsu, Gore, Hatake Kakashi-centric, Implied Cannibalism, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide or Self-Harm, Insanity, Kakashi-Gaiden, Loss of Control, Loss of Control over Life, Loss of Identity, Loss of Sanity, Madara is an ASS, Manipulation, Mental Instability, Mokuton Kakashi, Nightmares, No Sex, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Non-Sexual Bondage, Not a Happy Story, Not a happy eneding either, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Suicidal Thoughts, Torture, Underage Soldiers, Underage??? i guess????, Violence, What-If's, be sure to tell me if i missed something btw, i dont?? even know what to tag this with anymore holy shit, i think, i wasnt going to to this but it wouldnt leave me alone so here we are, if he can be called that anymore, in general, not sex-wise though, self harm maybe?, someone suggested this and hhOOOO BOY, this is a ride, this is really messed up be warned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-21 12:08:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15557403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SansThePacifist/pseuds/SansThePacifist
Summary: Madara made due with what he got, even if it wasn't a Uchiha (Far from it actually, seeing how the color of the hair is not black and the genetics were.. All sorts of wrong.) it was better than nothing. He was going to die soon enough and it would be a shame if he had to restart his plans. Either way, he stitched mesh into the skin and watched the other half of the young boy’s body grow stronger with the plant cells. A miracle, he mused, that the child survived at all. His eyes were both practically wasted by the time he arrived, sliced into slivers or crushed into a bloody mess, the fact that he might have been able to regenerate the eyes with Hashirama’s cells was beyond interesting, spiking the curiosity hidden deep within. A strong child as such could be put to good use.((VERY, VERY DARK. POTENTIALLY TRIGGERING. PLEASE READ THE TAGS.))





	One breeds Love (The other Hate)

**Author's Note:**

> This is a VERY dark story, all through out it. It is NOT for the weak of heart and DEFINITELY not for anyone under the age of 13 or so.  
> This WOULD be marked at T but, as you can see, it is very, very dark. I did not want to risk it, as so, it's M.
> 
> Sansthepacifist = Writing  
> RoxFlame (xPheonixFlamex) = Ideas & Help

Madara made due with what he got, even if it wasn't a Uchiha (Far from it actually, seeing how the color of the hair is not black and the genetics were.. All sorts of _wrong._ ) it was better than nothing. He was going to die soon enough and it would be a shame if he had to restart his plans. Either way, he stitched mesh into the skin and watched the other half of the young boy’s body grow stronger with the plant cells. A miracle, he mused, that the child survived at all. His eyes were both practically wasted by the time he arrived, sliced into slivers or crushed into a bloody mess, the fact that he might have been able to regenerate the eyes with Hashirama’s cells was beyond interesting, spiking the curiosity hidden deep within. A strong child as such could be put to good use.

 

It took at least a week for the child to awaken, even worse, for Madara, was how weak he was. The child’s chakra storage's were unbelievably small and the currents were terribly thin. How was the child even a shinobi? It made things so much harder on him. The genjutsu that the Uchiha cast upon the child seemed to have little effect on his mental health, driving him insane with how much more work he’d have to do to get the plan going any further. Perhaps he should have left said child to die instead of taking the ungrateful brat in. He sneered, glaring daggers at the rude child. “ _Obey_ me,” He bellowed, waiting for the silver haired brat to flinch. Nothing. It made him angrier, “Don’t you know who I am?”

“No.” What a blunt response. He had to applaud the bravado.

“Oh? Do you not?” The child averted his gaze, making Madara swell up with diluted pride. “I had thought that I would go down in history,” He growled, “Haven’t you heard of _Uchiha Madara?_ ” Dark eyes scanned him, careful to pick up everything.

“You _are_ infamous,” The child replied slowly.

“Infamous?” Madara laughed, unhappy. “What a show of _gratitude!_ ” Though, if he were being taken care of an old man with spiky hair as a child, he would be rather rude himself. “I shall pardon such behavior this time,” He grumbled. “Do make sure not to do it again or I will be very.. _Displeased._ ”

 

The child was as thin as a stick. Despite his hatred of humanity, which was mainly directed at _Konaha,_ he did not want the child to starve. Firstly, he was pretty sure that he’d die soon and he didn’t want all his work to go to waste. Secondly, burying child after child was getting _annoying._ Thirdly, the brat was disobedient in most cases, including that fact that Zetsu is made out of plant matter. He could just eat him, there was nothing problematic about it to him. Besides, it wasn’t like Zetsu felt emotions, nor was he human. There was no logical reason for the child to refrain from eating. “Brat,” He growled. “Eat.” The disobedient, _selfish_ child stuck his nose up.

“No.”

“ _Eat._ ”

“No.”

“Eat or I swear upon my family’s honor that I will _torture_ you to death then leave your broken corpse as a _gift_ to your pathetic village.” There was silence. Madara was growing restless, willing to shove the plant matter down the brat’s throat if he had to. Eventually, the child’s glare grew determined.

“No.” _That was_ _it._ He lunged towards the child, wrapping his (rather weak) hands around it's throat, and attempted to choke the child to death. The child threw futile yet careful jabs and tried to escape his grasp, but it took only a few more minutes that it should have before the silver haired child stopped fighting.

 

The child was far more stubborn than he had originally thought. When it had woken up in a daze, he had tried to force food upon him once more. “I will _kill_ you.” He declared.

“Good.” The child bit back. “I was _supposed_ to be _dead_ anyways.”

“You should be grateful you aren’t.”

“Should I?” The brat scoffed. “With the way things are going, I doubt it.” Madara stood up, taking the chopped matter with him.

“Then _perish,_ foolish child.” And he slid into the darkness.

 

The child was far more stubborn than he had thought. His mental health was still.. Somewhat contained. Madara knew almost nothing about the brat, but he was willing to learn if it would finally open him up to the horrors of the world. “Tell me, insignificant buffoon, what is your name?” The child was curled up on the rocks, looking pained.

“Why do you _suddenly_ care?” The brat croaked, voice dry and brittle. Madara carefully held himself back from giving any reaction.

“Do you not desire to be called your name and not ‘child’ or ‘brat’.” The weak little thing stayed silent for a while, seemingly sorting his thoughts.

“..Not by you.” Oh?

“Oh? Seems you are far more foolish than I had previously thought.” Getting angry would solve nothing. Deep breath, walk away. “I _will_ find your name and, when I do, I shall _break_ it.” A pathetic sound came from, presumably, the child after he left.

 

He hated the child. The child was smart, too smart, reminding him far too much of Tobirama. He _hated_ the child _and_ Tobirama. Both. Almost equally. Too bad he couldn’t kill the child. Well.. He could, but that’d be such a waste… He would very much like the plan to work and, if his calculations were correct, he might not be alive long enough to keep it going. Either way, he needed something to keep it going. How long would it take to break the second coming of the ‘genius’ Senju?

The child shook like a leaf, fairly obviously starving. His skin was translucent and seemingly fragile. Madara worried, just for a moment, that the Hashirama cells would over take the child at any moment. What a shame it would be..? Not that it had been too long, he could kidnap another child if he _really_ wanted to. At least, he mused halfheartedly, the best wasn’t as resistant to his genjutsu anymore.

 

He finally managed to trap the child within a flimsy genjutsu, sketches based off of the little he knew about the child. They most likely wouldn't last long, but it was enough to test the boundaries. It took about a minute before the child carefully dispelled the jutsu. Madara was not impressed by how long it took, but the brat fought good, so it would be alright.. Eventually. The brat must have thought he was alone because, suddenly, the child burst into tears, shivering and curling into himself. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” The child repeatedly like a mantra, dark eyes distant as the tears continued to fall. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” _Pathetic._ The genjutsu wasn’t even _that_ strong, he hadn’t even started using his sharingan yet. His nose wrinkled in disgust and he walked away, signaling for a Zetsu to stay and learn more.

 

The child was starting to mix up realities, so he decided it was time to try something new. He cast another genjutsu over the other and approached the brat, knowing full well that he would see, hear someone different. Dark eyes looked up to him and then froze, his frail, malnutritioned form shaking lightly. “You..” The child started, looking surprised before horrified. Madara could see the gears turning. “You can’t _be_ here,” He whispered, _pleaded,_ “You’re _dead.._ ” Impressive, not many children remembered the dead.

“Whose fault is that?” He sneered, purposefully twisting his face in anger. The child cowered slightly before bristling.

“It w-wasn’t my fault!” He noted the falter in the child’s voice. “You’re the one who.. Who did such a _stupid_ thing!” Oh?

“What is your name?” He asked, caution lacing his voice.

“You can’t be here..” The child repeated, looking beaten.

“What is your name?” He was getting tired of the game.

“...You can’t.. You can’t _be_ here..”

"What's your name," Madara thundered, watching the child flinch back as if stabbed.

"Y-you can't.." The brat's pleads were quieter than before and he could see tears. He approached, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

"What is your name," He bit, interrupting him from bawling like a pathetic _baby._ The silver haired brat swallowed before looking to the floor, curling in on himself in an act of submission, rather like a puppy.

"..It's Kakashi." So quiet.

"What is your _name._ "

"....Hatake."

...Good enough. The child looked too sad, which was beyond _exhausting_ to even _witness,_ for him to continue questioning. He scoffed, raising his nose before leaving. He could hear a quiet apology from the boy, directed at it's father. _Weak hearted fool._

 

“Hatake Kakashi,” He told one of the Zetsu when he got far enough. “Do the research.” He couldn’t be bothered to remember such an insignificant name any longer than necessary.

 

A prodigy, that’s what the brat _supposedly_ was. He was told that he was the son of (“The White Fang,” Zetsu said, something incredulous in his tone.) Sakumo Hatake and a mystery woman. He did not know who ‘Sakumo’ was, but he remembered the Hatake. They were strong, terribly strong, and almost on par with the Uchiha in terms of learning skills, not that any Uchiha would _ever_ admit that out loud. Despite said ability to learn and their strength, the Hatake vanished from the field quickly. Truly, he didn’t think he would ever see another. He was actually rather upset that the brat was one, since it would take far longer to break him than a Uchiha. He could not exploit any curse of hatred or blatantly _obvious_ emotions.

Still, his new reality _shall_ come to fruition. He’d like to see someone _try_ to stop it.

 

Kakashi wasn’t sure what was real and what wasn’t anymore. At some point, the genjutsu were replaced by something he couldn’t escape, something so realistic that it made him wish, wish a hundred times more, for Minato to _come and_ **_save him._ **

He was home. When did he get home? He didn’t remember coming there.. He didn’t remember being saved. The alarm was what woke him up, screaming at him to get up and meet with the team. Oh. Oh? Was that just some sort of messed up dream it was- very vivid. He pat himself down before looking in the mirror, eyes widening in surprise when he found scars on his side still. If it was just a dream.. Why did he have the scars? Was.. Was he freed? Did someone get him out? _Why didn’t he remember?_ He took a deep breath before getting up, noticing that he was still incredibly weak, and went to try and find wherever they were supposed to meet up.

When he got there, Minato-sensei was the only one there. That was normal, that was how it went. Soon Rin would come and Obito would be late. Before he knew it, they were making jokes and smiling. He greeted them and they- They smiled and it looked like a split across their heads, cracking it open, spilling- _He was frozen, he wanted to scream, to escape, what was_ ** _happening-_** spilling- _he tried to get out, but it clung to him, swallowing him limb by limb-_ he was engulfed in gore.

 

Reality shattered.

 

_He screamed._

 

In hindsight, he probably should have just nodded and went along with whatever ‘Madara’ (he still didn’t really believe that was who it was, despite the evidence) wanted and then he’d probably would have been free by the time his limbs were working functionally. The fact that he _wasn’t_ free, however, made him desire to get out as fast as possible. The exercises he had to do, though, exhausted him easily and his pool of chakra was not getting much larger. “Make a flower,” one of the white things said, the lilt of it’s voice making him want to get away as fast as possible. “Make a flower and you can rest.” He didn’t have any sort of power to make flowers, there was no possible way. Still, he had to put the effort in. He pressed his nails into the palm of his fist, so hard that he broke the skin, and imagined a bead, a seed, blooming within his palm.

It took some tips from the white things (Zetsu’s, he reminded himself) before something pressed against his fingers and poked, gently towards the ceiling. He released the tension in his hands to look at it, nails dripping red, and saw something resembling a bunch of small roses, a musk cluster, half-bloomed. It was starving, starving for the sun it desired, it _screamed_ at him for _water,_ _food, the sun, **please--** _ He dropped it, watching it wither away on the floor with wide eyes.

He did it. _He did it._ What the fuck--

 

After he was able to make the flower, it got easier and easier to use it to make the earth flow through him, to make him sturdy, and feel the water keep him light, quick, enough to keep moving. It made it far more simple to get up and do his exercises, to get closer and closer to _freedom,_ still, he could feel his lightning spark each time he dared to use water. Earth, however, made his chakra race as if it was being eaten, to make it bunker up and try to hide somewhere else. He knew it was because earth overpowered his lightning, but it still made him panic, if only for a moment. He needed the mix the chakras perfectly to be able to calm the panic within his coils and move smoothly. Too much earth, his chakra panics and he’s too sturdy. Too much water and he feels like he’s being burnt alive, his chakra would have a field day. Lightning was his first chakra nature, but it was one of the more dangerous. He had often read or heard about people who’s control faltered and ended up electrocuting themselves, often burning much needed tissue off or charring their skin and ended up needing an amputation. Those were the horror stories in the Land of Fire, often scaring others out of using said nature. He had always thought the idea of ignoring his chakra nature was _hysterical,_ he wouldn’t be able to do his job as a Shinobi without it.

..Well, he guessed he was considered KIA at the point, at least MIA, since he was buried in rocks. He would probably not be considered an active Shinobi anymore. The thought made him falter. All his work.. All his work was for nothing- He would be ignored, just like his father was- _He would be a disgrace!_ The earth around him burst with tendrils of ivy that bloomed white flowers.

 

Madara finally snapped, shoving plant matter after plant matter into the child’s mouth, ignoring what he choked and flailed, horror in his eyes. He ignored it when the child tried to throw up afterwards, pushing fingers in his mouth in hopes of getting rid of- _it’s a person, it’s a type of person, he killed a Zetsu and is forcing me to eat him-_ the plant matter.

 

The plants from his emotional outbursts tended to die quickly without the sun. Their pleads quieting down until all that was left was a weak husk, flopped over and drying as if the ground was sucking out all that was left.

..How quick was quick? When was day, when was night? There was a boulder in the way and he was _weak._ The only way he got information was when ‘Madara’ slept or stumbled into the shadows and the Zetsu went to enjoy the sun. The Zetsu must be made out of some plant like material- He shivered, pressing back a memory that he knew would most likely make him _panic-_ since he could sometimes hear hundreds of voices, saying so many different things. He had learned that he could hear plants if they screamed or he got close enough. It was… Overwhelming to say the least. Not as overwhelming as the smell of death and decay surrounding him, which was ten times worse because he didn’t have his mask, but it was still bothering him after… Who knows how long.

 

He was out of breath. After he was finally able to get out of bed, his hair had reached his shoulders, tangled in knots and natural, yet still disgusting, oils mixed with dirt, making it look like a light brown instead of what should have been silver. How long had it been? Still, he was able to do far more exercise and his hair had reached halfway down his arm. He heaved, leaning onto the wall and taking a deep breath. The Zetsu encouraged him, giving him support when his false leg gave out. He didn’t know how ‘Madara’ could- _eat, eat, they were people, don’t-_ He swallowed, ignoring the bile pushing at his throat, and tried to take one more step. Just one more.

 

‘Madara’ was disappointed in him. He could feel it. It was sharp daggers in his back, the hairs on his arm and back raising, it was his throat drying out and it suddenly becoming _so much harder_ to breathe, it was the dread, _fear,_ pooling in his stomach. He wasn’t sure what he did and his survival instincts were screaming at him to _move,_ get _out_ of there. He wanted to leave, he did, but there was nowhere to run. Instead, he stiffened, raising his head dangerously, and glared at the monster keeping him captive.

 

He flinched away from ‘Madara’ as the old man tried to touch him, unsure of what to do. “I’ll sick my nin-kin on you,” Kakashi hissed, eyeing ‘Madara’s hands warily.

“Then I shall kill them.” The monster responded easily, detachment echoing in his voice, laced with haughty amusement as if he didn’t believe the dogs would be able to reach him. He froze, leaning away from him. Would he? Would he be so cruel as to kill _his_ dogs? He swallowed, licking his lips nervously, and looked away. Okay. He won’t call for his nin-kin then. He hoped- and prayed, mentally, to gods he never believed in- that they to never try to reach him, as well.

 

The ground came to life at his feet, empty bodies springing to life all around him. He wanted to puke. Faces, flesh sucked in and torn, screamed at him from within, people he never knew grabbed for his ankles and tried to pull him under, screaming, screaming always. The smell was disgusting, mixes of rot and garlic making his nose burn and his eyes sting. He has always been Shinobi, even before he had graduated, as so, he had known the smell of death quite well, the smell of one, many, people rotting within or on top of the earth. That said, he knew they were dead. He could smell the blood that flaked at his skin, clinging to him and tightening around him like ropes, he could smell rotten flesh and feces, the smell of cloth left to the wild. A hand, the skin hanging off of it weakly and bone visible, wrapped around his throat, pushing him to the floor, into the land of destruction and broken marigolds.

 

_A World of Peace._

_A World of Love._

 

After the months passed, and ‘Madara’ grew bolder, he knew that he had try to run again. His instincts were screaming at him, loudly, to get up and crush that boulder. So he did, roots slowly pressing through the cracks and breaking the earth into large pieces as time flew by. He grabbed one of the cloaks that made his skin angry, throwing it over himself as quick as possible, and threw the splinters of rock, that were in his way, as far as he could with the little chakra as he had. His lightning sang viciously as fresh air filled his lungs, pulling him farther away from the depths of hell. He had to squint his eyes, for the light was too bright, to be able to walk and run, giving no care for the brush cutting at his skin or catching at his cloth. The birds sang for him, leading him towards the thicker parts of the woods, and he listened.

Days passed while he ran, kept running, his legs sore and mind muddled. The sky, when he saw it through the trees, had never looked so promising to him, the wind and blue expanses whispering ‘come home’. It took even longer for him to slow to a stop, tired and out of his mind with glee. He was _free._

 

He woke up, feeling strangely empty, and tried to move. Something was tied around him, around his wrists, his feet, and even his neck was bound. He attempted, once more, to find that his neck ached terribly, as if he had actually been choked. He sputtered, opening his eyes quickly and hoping, praying, for something, someone, to please, _please,_ save him. He didn’t feel good, his stomach in knots, he knew he had eaten something wrong- wrong on so many levels, and his whole body burned. He wanted out, he wanted free. A cold, too cold, hand pressed against his forehead and he screamed, trying to pull away as quick as possible. Instead, his head was pressed into stone and his breath sputtered. The world shifted from underneath him and he could feel no more.

 

A curved stone, a star twinkling, golden hair and ringing bells.

 

Waking up, again, was odd. His brain was foggy and his heart hurt for unknown reasons. He needed to get out though, as soon as possible. His insides twisted and pulled at him, telling him to _get away_ from the figure hovering near him. His reaction was near instant, even with a broken body and blurry mind. “Are you not loyal?” A familiar, cool voice heaved. “Do you not wish for the perfect world?” No, he didn’t. He didn’t at all. He swallowed, trying to force back the shakiness in his limbs, and noted the bruises along the areas he had been, most likely, tied up. There was silence (why couldn’t he see the source?) as Kakashi tried to make himself as small as possible. “We caught you when you tried to escape.”

(Wood cutting his skin as he ran, lightning flashing as he tried to dive to the side- Burning pain.)

“Are you _loyal?_ ” ‘Madara’ seethed, suddenly right in front of him. It took all he had in him to hold back the scream clawing at his throat.

 

The world around him glitched and stuttered, groaning as if a tower was falling. He was frozen as he watched the rock around him shatter away, bit after bit, and as images started to show behind it. What was going on? His body got heavier and constricted, and when he looked down, he was wearing clothes. He reached his hand forward, cautious in his attempt, and stuck his hand through a hole. Nothing happened. He took it out and the glitching stopped for a moment. Biting his lip, he reached towards the fading rock, and touched it. It crumbled and fell to the ground, the grains looking more like sand than rock. He winced at the brightness surrounding him, covering his eyes after a few seconds and the realization that it was still to light.

After adjusting, too slow in his opinion, to the loud voices, the smell of something sweet, and the light, he felt no better. It was Konoha, he was in Konoha again. The way he got there made no sense, and when he flared his chakra, nothing destabilized. He stiffened as the familiar scents of cinnamon, grass, and cotton hit his nose. He turned around, quickly, to see his team. He called out to them, stumbling on his feet as he attempted to run over. They showed no sign of seeing or hearing his, continuing to talk cheerfully. “It’s so great without that bastard here,” Obito chirped, pointing to his eyes cheerfully. “I even got my sharingan because he died!” Minato-sensei nodded in agreement, seemingly uncaring towards Obito’s uncharacteristically _cold_ words.

“At least he did _something_ good in his life,” Rin said, smiling sweetly. “He always dragged us behind, and since he killed himself,” A shiver went down his spine as his eyes stung, “We’ve been doing so much better!” Minato-sensei nodded again.

“He was always such a burden.” Sensei said, voice too high, and his smile too bright. Kakashi shook, reaching towards them. The world burst into purple hyacinths

“I’m sorry,” He whispered, tears falling down his cheeks, “I’m sorry, please!” They went through him, not minding a single bit, and the betrayal cut deep within him.

“Oh! Speaking of better, want to go on a date, Rin?” She laughed and nodded.

“Sure thing!” Minato-sensei watched his last two students with fond eyes as Kakashi sobbed.

 

The next few months passed by in a blur, his chest cold with liquid sadness yet eyes dry. The purple hyacinths slowly turning into cyclamen flowers that bloomed in his wake, trailing behind him and withering as soon as he stepped away, calling, whispering, “ _I’m sorry, I’m sorry,_ ” echoing distant thoughts. He ignored them, however, to focus on his fire. The fire that burned at his side, rejected by his water, yet harnessed and grown by his wind and earth. Lightning had no queries with fire, thrumming in amusement as he failed to make it grow. The fake Madara yelled and hit him when the fire wasn’t large enough, insisting that it needed to match the size of his own.

It took at least another month before the fireball filled up enough that ‘Madara’ deemed it decent. The old man turned to him with darkened eyes, “How does it feel,” the false man started, “To harness the flame of hatred?” When he went to respond, he was cut off. “You are close to deserving,” He rumbled, tone slightly warmer than the ice cold he was used to, “For the name, Madara.”

“But..” He didn’t want to be. Or did he? He couldn’t tell.

“Tch,” The old man scoffed, “You were to deny it, no?” he stilled, panic rising quickly. The Uchiha glared at him, seeing deep inside and cracking what he saw into pieces. “Pathetic,” He sneered, “Madara is he who rejects the world.” He couldn’t _breathe._ “Do you _reject_ it?”

“I-” Madara snapped.

“You do _nothing,_ you ignoramus! Weren’t you _angry_ when the people you thought you could trust left you behind to die?” (Warm hands wrapped around his own, Rin’s sobs and Obito’s pleading.) “When you found out they didn’t care?” (Blood, blood everywhere. He was so, so _lonely._ ) “When your village betrayed your father and he left you behind to fend for yourself?” (The family tanto fit into his hands perfectly, still warm from the coagulating blood.) “No one has ever _truly_ cared for you, the insignificant oaf.” (Minato ruffled his hair and startled when Kakashi pushed him away with a glare. _Only_ his father was allowed to do that and _he_ was _dead-_ )

“They-”

“I know _all,_ ” ‘Madara’ thundered, “Does that not _register_ in that small, _asinine_ brain of yours?” He, wisely, kept his mouth shut after that.

 

The Zetsu returned. He didn’t even know they were gone in the first place, but they were back. He eyed the three nervously as ‘Madara’ snatched something square from the plant men, shouting something that was terribly distorted by their surroundings. Then, he watched as said old man hobbled over to him with a dark look on his face. “Is this what you had been wanting?” ‘Madara’ asked, as he showed Kakashi a familiar picture. “Is this what you begged for in your sleep?” Kakashi reached for it and frowned when ‘Madara’ held it away from him. “Is it?” He swallowed.

“Yes.” He wanted something to hold onto, he wanted his team to be somewhat closer, even if they were across the world or dead. He reached for it again and winced when the paper slid through his hands easily as ‘Madara’ yanked it further, yet again. “Please.” He murmured, staring at the picture.

“Oh?” ‘Madara’ sneered, eyes lighting up in amusement. He stiffened, reaching again. “You want this?” He dangled it in front of him. “Why?”  
“Because-”  
“Because what. They were your _team?_ ” ‘Madara’ grinned, his teeth, yellow and decayed, showing his malice. “Oh, but they _hated_ you.” Kakashi stiffened. “They hated you and your _stuck up attitude._ ” A chuckle as ‘Madara’ looked at the picture himself. “You thought they were _bellow_ you,” He snarled, “ _Didn’t you?_ ” Kakashi flinched away, as if bit, swallowing thickly in an attempt to get the cotton feeling away. “I bet,” The man seemed to muse, hands sliding towards only one side of the picture. “They were _ecstatic_ when you departed.” The picture was torn, deliberately slow, as ‘Madara’ cut the old Kakashi out. The Uchiha held up the separate piece, as if it were a prize. Smoke make his senses alert and he stared in horror as ‘Madara’ gleefully set the piece on fire before throwing the ashes to the ground. “Now,” He said, as if comforting a sad child, “Kakashi Hatake no longer exists.” And then he stared at the ashes, eyes glazed over, long after the Zetsu dragged him to the bed. Long after the fires went out. He stared, no longer sure who he was, since Kakashi was _dead._

When he woke up, unsure of when his eyes had closed, anemones were blossomed across the skin of his false arm.

 

“If Kakashi is dead,” He asked the wall, “Who am I?” It was one of the Zetsu who responded.

“You could be Madara, you could be he who rejects the world.” The line felt practiced, stiff, but he said nothing of it, instead tasting the name quietly.

 

It felt like acid burning at his lips, like ash in his mouth. False and destructive. Still, who _else_ would he be?

 

He got dreams, nightmares perhaps, of a life he never lived. He had dreams of talking to a boy with a bowl cut, he had nightmares of war. He had dreams of bringing peace, he had nightmares of his brother dying. He fought with an old friend, he fought with the ninja of the world once more. He knew his story, finally.

 

His pools of chakra were larger than ever, practically overflowing, when ‘Madara’ led him away and told him that he was ready. (“Ready for what?” He asked, eyes narrowed. “You’ll see,” The false Madara responded.) To his surprise, hands reached for towards his face and- **_pain._ ** Oh, how it _hurt._ Sadly, it was a familiar feeling, the pain in his eyes at least. He was frozen as he felt frail fingers dig for his eyes, clawing them out with horrifying ease. His blood, shockingly warm, trailed down his cheeks slowly, but he didn’t move. He couldn’t move. He was petrified, the pain numbed by his buzzing brain and the feeling on something moving around his eyes.

Seconds later, he heard a terribly gross sound, shivering, finally, as the hands were pulled out. He wanted to cry, he did, but he couldn’t. He coughed, the pain catching up rather quickly after the period of detachment, making him want to scream, to curl up in a ball and disappear from the world. All he could do was whimper, however, as two cold and moist orbs were shoved into his sockets, and, soon enough, one of his pressure points was pressed.

 

It took weeks before he was able to open his eyes again. Weeks where ‘Madara’ would explain what he had done, explain just what the pair of sharingan eyes would do. “You can deactivate them if you so desire, I had an old friend put seals on them, after all.” His eyelashes were crusted with blood and his eyes hurt every few seconds, “You should be _thankful._ ” He didn’t know anymore. It turned out that he didn’t know a lot of the things he used to think he did.

 

When he finally unwrapped his eyes, the world was so slow and he could see everything. The ants climbing the wall, the statue and all it’s wires, he could see ‘Madara’s mouth quirk in amusement, he could see just how he was going to move. He could see. It terrified him. “Take the chakra away from your eyes.” He did and watched as everything seemed to lower in quality. “The seals work, it seems.”

 

“Channel your fire chakra to your eyes,” ‘Madara’ ordered. He did so, “Now aim.” and the pile of rocks in front of him turned into black flames. 'Madara' hummed approvingly. “Try to get it to go away, now.” He did, it didn’t work. “Try using your water chakra instead.” The black flames vanished. “Interesting,” The old man murmured to himself. “Very interesting.”

 

“Channel earth chakra into your eyes.” Just like in the lessons from before, he did as told. “Surround yourself with a furnace, a shield.” He did, eyebrow twitching in focus. “Let it out.” To his surprise, when he finally opened his eyes, he saw that he was suddenly surrounded by a red skeleton in armor. ‘Madara’ spoke, “Now use wind to cut it down,” It vanished. “Susanoo.”

“..What?” ‘Madara’ frowned angrily.

“The armor you used is called Susanoo. In accordance to the Shinobi code, speaking the technique outloud may help you activate it easier.”

“...And the flames?”

“Amaterasu.”

 

It took at least a year before he could use the sharingan easily, as easily as breathing. ‘Madara’ seemed pleased with that development, especially as his chakra pools grew larger and larger. He could taste his own insanity through his chakra, he could feel the desire for freedom. “A world of peace?” He asked, focused on creating just wood instead of more flowers.

“A world of love.” ‘Madara’ confirmed. Such a place would be.. Nice? A world where he could be he who died, a world where he who died would have been accepted. It would be…

 

_Paradise._

 

 

 

‘Madara’ eventually told him the full plan. “Then,” The old man mumbled, “You shall revive me.” He tilted his head slightly, sizing up the rogue-ninja. “I have told you all you should have to know in the future. Use it wisely.” He nodded.


End file.
